


herald to the gaudy spring

by Lyncias



Series: a heaven drowsy with harmony [1]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyncias/pseuds/Lyncias
Summary: Wataru receives a letter twelve years after he had last seen EichiInspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 1





	herald to the gaudy spring

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to some angsty music at three in the morning and this was the result... Now I kind of like the sonnet idea and maybe I want to write more and make it a series? I don't know
> 
> Also please point out any mistakes you see because I'm still pretty new to writing fics for this fandom.
> 
> Please enjoy!!

_From fairest creatures we desire increase,_

_That thereby beauty's rose might never die._

—

Tori Himemiya was the first to receive the news that the scion of the house of Tenshouin had had a son (About time, he had said when his men delivered the news to him, send them a letter to congratulate them). He was sitting by the table with his young son, inspecting how much progress the child had made on his German and Latin.

The young boy had finally managed to memorize a piece of the Latin grammar he had struggled with before, and looked up proudly to present to his father his work.

Tori was standing by the window, and wasn't looking at his son. He was sipping his tea quietly, his eyes staring at a certain point in the distance, a point so far away it couldn't be measured with miles and meters and must be measured in years. The young boy couldn't tell what it was, but something about his father, maybe it was the way he stood, the way he held himself, the way his eyes gleamed with something—nostalgia? Sadness? Longing? Nothing the boy could understand at his tender age—that made the boy wanted to cry.

So the boy turned away from his homework, held his face in his hands, and started to weep, tears soaking his lime green eyes. His father stood by the window, his lips pressed together, his knuckles white on the cup. He didn't look at his son at all.

—

Wataru Hibiki was the second one to receive the news. He had just got off of the stage after a performance, the sound of the thunderous applause still echoing in his ears. He took off his hat on his way to his changing room and was fanning himself with it, wiping his forehead so the beads of sweat wouldn't drip into his eyes.

"Congratulations on another great show, Mr. Hibiki," the stage director said as he walked by.

"It was my pleasure to preform for such a wonderful crowd, my dear Ivan," he said. The director smiled and walked away, speaking with another actor in the production.

The rest of the actors were already back to their rooms already, and those who were still lingering in the hallway were speaking with this director or that manager. He was famous enough he didn't need to talk to any of them, so he headed straight to his makeup room.

His room was below the stage and quiet, the sound of audience murmuring and leaving turned into muffled ambience. He put the heavy coat he wore in the last act onto a chair nearby and went to take off the rest of the costume.

He was hanging the shirt onto a rack when he noticed that there was a letter on his table. There was no sender, the only thing written on the creamy golden envelop was his name, romanized and written with flowing cursive. He picked it up, flipping it over a few times, unsure where it was from or who had sent it.

"Mari?" he called. When no one answered he raised his voice, "Mari? You there?" His stage assistant poked her head into the room.

"Sorry, sir," she said, "was a bit loud out there. What's wrong?"

"Who put this here?" he asked, waving the envelope.

"Yes, that," Mari said. "Some guy came in and gave it to me. Said you'll know who it was from."

"Really," he said, looking down at the heavy paper.

"Yes," Mari nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, no, thanks, though."

"No problem," she said, then she shut the door behind her quietly.

Wataru took off his gloves and opened the envelope slowly, careful not to cause any major tears in the paper. It felt wrong to damage such rich and pristine paper.

 _Mister Wataru Hibiki,_ the letter began. _You are inviting on the ninth of August to the celebration in the name of the newborn heir to the Tenshouin Family. The celebration will be held at the mansion located outside of Tokyo, Japan. Please dress accordingly._

Wataru felt the world was silent for a second. He hadn't seen Eichi since high school. He had seen him on TV on a few occasions. He knew when he was married, he remembered following the wedding closely on the small screen, despite how much he didn't want to. Mrs. Tenshouin was a woman with gentle amethyst eyes and pale, silvery hair. Some part of her face inexplicably looked like him. The bride and the groom standing together had looked so beautiful Wataru had felt a heavy sadness he had not experienced since high school.

He was putting the letter back into the envelope when another piece of paper fell out. He watched the white piece fluttered onto his table like a fragile butterfly. He picked it up and recognized the handwriting instantly. He didn't want to read it, but he couldn't stop himself.

 _Wataru,_ Eichi wrote in hurried, cramped handwriting. _I don't know if you'll get this note or not—I'm writing this even before all the guests are approved—but please do not ignore the invitation. I know I haven't seen you in years, but this is the last thing I ask of you._

Wataru placed the letter back into the envelope and called for Mari.

"Conceal all my schedules for the next few weeks," he said, "I have an important gathering to attend to."

—

Eichi Tenshouin was, in fact, one of the last person to learn that he had had a son. He was on the plane back to Japan from a series of meetings and dinners with his business partners in Washington D.C. when his son was born. He had been worn to the bones by the meetings and unnecessary dances and formalities, and had told his men not to wake him under any conditions.

He hadn't slept so well in ages, which was strange since he was never a good plane sleeper. He wasn't even a good bed sleeper, but on that flight back to Japan he slept like a child.

In his dream he was in high school again, when the days were bright and full of hopes and everything, even changing the predestined course of his life, seemed possible and within reach. When people around him were true and bright and romantic, when life itself was a romance. When he was still able to preform on stage, to bring people happiness. When stage made him feel free and happy and how it had liberated him from the hospital beds and needles and medicines and family obligations. When, although he wasn't even sure if he could live to see the next morning's sun, he had really felt alive and that life was starting to love him.

He woke up when the plane touched down, covered in sweat. His head was groggy and his body ached.

"Sir," one of his men came over and whispered by his ear. "Sir, your wife had given birth. It was a boy."

His mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that he had left America childless and arrived in Japan a father. He was still, somehow, thinking he was in high school, and that a child was something impossible and outlandish.

"Yes," he manage to say, "wonderful. We have an heir."

"You have an heir, sir," the man said, smiling. "Congratulations."

"Yes, of course," he said, pushing himself out of his seat.

He was hurried into the building and onto a car with dark stained windows. Inside he was briefed on the information of the son. His name (which was Hideaki, chosen by the newborn's grandfather), weight and length (about three kilograms and half a meter long), color of his hair and eyes (golden and pale purple, perspectively), whether he had laughed or not (he did). Eichi listened with half a mind. Outside he spotted a billboard with large, blocky characters and the face of a man with pale blue hair splayed across. He wondered if Wataru had received the invitation to the celebration, and whether or not he would show. He knew he would, but somewhere deep inside there was still a small seed of doubt.

"The celebration is two weeks from now, sir," the old butler said, staring at him through thick lenses. "I have a feeling that you aren't listening to what I'm saying," he added.

"Of course I am," Eichi pulled his gaze away from the window and said, "why wouldn't I be?" he smiled at the old man, who sighed and shook his head, but didn't say anything more.

—

Wataru arrived at the mansion a hour before the celebration was supposed to begin. Back in high school, he had once snuck into this place to rescue Eichi from a party his father had made him attend. After the summer after high school, he had never imagined he would come back here.

He had entered the ground with ease. The security system had changed, but he was Wataru Hibiki and there was not a thing that he couldn't do as long as he wanted to do it.

The night was bright, sky had turned into a lilac blue, and a few exceptionally bright stars were already winking among strips of pale clouds. Crispy breeze blew across the ground as Wataru walked through the flowers and shrubs and to the center of the garden.

There, he found a man sitting, stately, on a stone bench among the roses. His back erect and his soft, golden hair blowing in the wind. He was holding a child, who was smiling up at the sky, his little hands extended as if he wanted to catch one of the stars that were falling onto his and his father's hair. Wataru thought he hadn't been here in more than a decade.

"I know you would come," Eichi said, smiling.

"Of course I would," Wataru said, swiping into a bow. "I would not miss it for the world."

"Come, look," Eichi said, holding out his son. "I am a father now."

"What a wonderful child," Wataru said, taking the child into his arms. The child giggled in delight, reaching out to play with his hair.

Eichi grinned and lowered his gaze, staring at rose by his hand. "I had a dream the other day," he said, "on the plane. About high school." Wataru stared at Eichi. "Do you remember how hopeful those days were? It was like we can anyone or anywhere. We had so many potentials and future was so bright. Can you believe how many years ago it was? My god."

Wataru felt his mouth dry. The child was tugging at his hair and collar, but he didn't try to stop him. "Indeed," he said, "it had been a long time since then."

Eichi looked up to the sky and smiled without replying. Wataru stared at him, and felt acutely the desire to turn back the time to when they were both young and hopeful, when the world was shining and life was something to be madly in love with. The child suddenly felt heavy in his arms, like all the years and things and people that had separated them.

He waltzed over and handed the child back to his father and placed a hand on Eichi's cheek. The latter closed his eyes and leaned against his hand. They pulled away at the same moment. "He looks so much like you," Eichi suddenly said, looking at the child.

"He looks like _you,_ " Wataru corrected him, "and he is beautiful."

"I'll miss you," Eichi said. "Goodbye, Wataru."

"I'll miss you as well," Wataru said, swiping into a dramatic bow, the way he used to do when he was still in high school. He pulled out a red rose from his sleeve and handed it to Eichi, "for Your Majesty and his lovely prince."

"An emperor no more," Eichi smiled, "but thank you."

So Wataru moved through the blue garden, through the roses and stars, through the hopes and loves, through the pasts and dreams. And, against what his heart truly wishes for, against the incoming crowd that brushed past him with smiles and gifts, Wataru left the mansion without looking back.

—

_Pity the world, or else this glutton be,_

_To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee._


End file.
